


Sutures

by hellowkatey



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt Matt, Lighthearted, Sexual Tension, match made in heaven, medical student, sutures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-20 13:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18127166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellowkatey/pseuds/hellowkatey
Summary: You're a medical student who is horrible at sutures. Matt Murdock is a vigilante with a habit of getting himself sliced up. You can probably see where this is going.





	Sutures

When bleeding profusely, there is a moment where Matt must stop on whatever rooftop he is on and go through his mental checklist of people who wouldn't call the cops if he passes out in their living room. Today has a particularly short list. 

Claire is out of town. He found that out when he stumbled through her window to find a note typed in braille that she will be away until the end of the month. She also included a phone number that turned out to be the number for the closest ER. Very funny. 

She must have planned this with Danny because he also had a similar note in his apartment. Granted, he forgot that Matt is blind and wrote it on a piece of paper in pen, but Foggy had a good laugh about it the next morning.

Foggy and Karen are on the list, but they are nearly always crossed out immediately. Matt can't ask them to do this type of thing. They're only on the list because they would probably kill him if they weren't. 

He went to Jessica Jones once. She was removed from the list immediately. 

He doesn't even bother with Luke. He would probably just make fun of Matt for having skin that breaks.  

Now comes the part where Matt assesses just how much he needs help. Pressing his palms against the gushing lacerations across his lower back and thigh, he sighs and leans back against an air conditioning unit. He  _really_ can't get this one himself. 

When it has been determined that he can't do this alone, Matt opens his ears and listens for some stranger that would be the most willing to stitch up their friendly neighborhood vigilante. 

"Jesus, Harry, can't you put your hemorrhoid cream on somewhe--"

"Turn the fucking light off you--"

"--it's me, don't think it's--"

"oh, Daddy, please let me--"

"Please just one more episode of Grey's--"

"Fuck, Jenny, I can't be a surgeon and be shit at sutures!" 

This piques Matt's interest. He hones in on a woman sitting on her couch a few floors below in the building across the street. She adjusts the phone and places it between her shoulder and her ear so both her hands can work at something in her lap. 

"I practice every night, but even the stitches on the banana are shit." 

She'll do.

The feeling of lightheadedness begins to creep into Matt's head, urging him to hurry. He leaps across the gap between the buildings and gets into the fire escape stairwell. Her back seems to be facing him and she's pretty engulfed in a conversation about a gynecology rotation. Creeping down to her floor he slowly shimmies the window open, slipping silently into the apartment. It's warm and smells like cinnamon. 

"Oh my god!" She shrieks suddenly, Matt jumps back, slamming his wounds into the corner. He winces, falling to his knees to caress the damage. He can hear her heart pounding but she hasn't told on him yet. "Uhh, I just saw a massive spider, like Australia big. I need to go, Jen... Yeah, in the morning. Bye." 

There is a thick silence between them. His head is beginning to spin so he needs to get this awkward introduction over with and establish a little bit of trust before he hits the deck. 

"You're... you're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen." 

"Yes. I need help." Matt says, gesturing to his back. 

"Oh shit, you do." She finally moves, running into what seems to be her kitchen. She is immediately at his side, pressing a cloth to his side and hoisting his arm around her shoulders. "I need you on your stomach." 

She leads him to the living room and slings him onto a couch. Matt can feel her struggling to cut at the thick material of his suit as the blood loss begins to set in. 

"Don't look under the mask." he says, his voice raspier than a moment ago. "No hospital." 

* * *

You'd like to say you didn't sign up for a masked vigilante to come crawling into your apartment, but you kind of did when you decided to go to medical school. Now you have a passed out man in a fucking devil costume, two massive lacerations staining your couch, and no help from a resident or professor. 

"Okay, okay," you mutter to yourself. "It's just a banana. A banana in a red suit." 

You do your best to cut away at the material, but it seems resistant to your scissors. You end up just pulling the suit down completely, leaving whoever this is in his briefs. 

"Don't look under the mask," you scoff, securing the undershirt under this guy's buff arm. "Nothing but a mask. If you weren't bleeding out on my couch, I'd tease you for being kinky." 

You get to work on the thigh. it's a nasty cut, but the lines are clean. Probably from a knife. You do your first interrupted suture that turns out fairly decent. The next is not as pretty but it looks like it will hold. You continue like this for the next two hours finally finishing three layers of stitches. Your hands are near cramping but there is still the other wound to worry about. You begin to wash it like you did the thigh. 

"How's it going?" a raspy voice rings out. You nearly shove the washcloth into the guy's open wound. 

"You really need to wear a bell or something." 

"That kind of defeats the element of surprise, don't you think?"

"I can't save you from bleeding out on my rug if you give me a heart attack first." 

He chuckles softly, shifting slowly as you finish washing the wound and apply a little bit of numbing cream. He breathes in as you insert the needle and begin on this set of sutures. With him awake, you are much more aware of your actions. The first stitch breaks as soon as you begin the second. 

"Medical student?" he asks. 

"Fourth year with the suturing ability of an eighth grader." 

"You seem to have done a decent job down here." You glance over to see his fingertips lightly grazing along the stitches. You pray that one doesn't pop with just his touch. 

"You caught me in the middle of a practice session on a banana. I was warmed up." 

Another stitch doesn't take and you groan in frustration. 

"Relax," he says softly. 

"Is this a normal thing you do? Just go into random apartments, hope they know first aid and won't press charges for breaking and entering?" 

"... it happens more than it probably should."

You chuckle, finishing two more satisfactory stitches. "At least you're honest. If I didn't pay attention to the news you would be facing the wrath of my baseball bat. Daredevil in my apartment...What brought you to my window anyways? Bring a fist to a knife fight?" 

"That's usually the case."

"How does that work out for you?" 

"I'm sure you can make a conjecture." 

You glance down at the collection of scars covering Daredevil's. "You ever considered carrying your own knife?" 

"Not my thing." 

"It seems to be a lot of other people's things. What's your thing then?" 

"You want to be a surgeon?" 

"Wow, okay, let's dodge the question shall we?" 

Silence falls between you and him as you complete the first layer and begin on the next. Talking to him seems to really take your mind off the stress. Maybe its the calmness in his voice. The tension between you is now causing your technique to falter once again. You sigh in defeat.

"I want to be a surgeon but that means shit if I can't even suture consistently." 

"You have time to practice, don't you?" 

"Surgery is competitive. I can know every technique for any surgery at the tip of my tongue, but if I can't use my hands to do it, I'm useless."

"Fair enough, I suppose. I wanted to be a doctor at one point." 

"Really. Now you just supply them with freshly beaten bad guys to stitch up. What happened there?"

He scoffs to himself like it's some kind of inside joke. "An unfortunate series of events, let's just say that." 

"The whole mystery man thing is getting real old." 

You don't have to see his face to know he's grinning. You can hear it in his voice. "I thought women like a little mystery." 

"Mystery as in sexy secret agent or something, not nameless and faceless." You hope he doesn't notice your own smile spreading across your lips. You shouldn't be having this much fun with a guy that climbed through your window. You also should invest in some better window locks apparently. 

"What's your name?" he asks suddenly. You roll your eyes.

"What's your's?" you retort.

"Matthew," he says without hesitation. You stop mid suture in surprise. Masked mysterious vigilante guy actually gave you his name?

"Is that your real name?" 

"It is." 

"You have some sort of ID that can prove that?" You feel him tense and you pat his shoulder softly. "I'm joking, relax." You go back to tying your current stitch, this one turning out to be one of the best thus far. You do another three, each better than the previous. Relief shoots through you. Maybe he won't take one step and bust all his stitches. Maybe spending all night on this was beneficial in an academic sense and not just creating a bit of a crush on a literal criminal. 

"[Y/N]." you finally reply as you finish the last stitch. "You're all stitched up, _Matthew_." 

"Thank you... [Y/N]."

You tape down large bandages over each wound and wipe off some blood from the surface of his skin. Your fingertips graze a few of his scars, taking in the contrast between the rough scar tissue and his smooth skin. You feel him shift a little, goosebumps running up his back. Lord, you need to chill the hell out. 

Matthew begins to pick himself up, trying hard to keep the sutured places intact. You step back, assessing the dark red blotches on your own sweatpants and NYU t-shirt to distract yourself from staring at his bunched up undershirt and briefs. Your hands are sore and cramping from nearly three and a half hours of stitches, and now standing up exhaustion washes over you. It's nearly four in the morning and you have class at eight. Matthew hobbles into the kitchen, his mask still on his face despite the rest of his little costume lying across the coffee table. He looks quite ridiculous in a helmet and a bloody white shirt with gray briefs. 

"I just want you to know that you look ridiculous." 

He sighs, and slowly reaches up, taking the mask off and placing it on the kitchen table. An audible "oh" leaves your lips in surprise as you scan over his tousled brown hair, handsome face, and bloodshot eyes. Shit, the devil is cute. "That wasn't me asking for you to take that--"

"I wanted to," he says, stepping forward and feeling the couch the back of the couch with his fingertips. "I, uh, know this may be a lot to ask as a student, but I want to know if you would mind ever doing this for me again. I am usually in need of some assistance with this type of thing." 

Your gaze falls on his eyes, which are trained down at the couch. You thought he was ashamed for a moment, avoiding eye contact, but now you're not sure. Lights from a passing car pass through your window and you squint through the light. He doesn't react.

"Matthew, do you feel alright?" You ask, panic rushing through you.

"What?"

You lunge forward, grabbing a flashlight from your first aid bag and approach him. His eyes don't follow you, but his body turns. You stand up on your tiptoes and hold the side of his face softly as you turn on the light and attempt to bring it up to his eye level. His hand grabbing your wrist stops you. You freeze, fear coursing through you with the realization that you just grabbed the face of a vigilante that kicks the asses of people as a hobby. You open your mouth to apologize, but nothing wants to come out.

His grip loosens and you jump backward, nearly falling over the back of the couch. 

"I'm sorry, the last time someone tried to shine a flashlight in my face... nevermind, but it may be a good time to explain my sight situation." 

You sit down, on your chair as Matthew explains the origins of his apparent blindness and how he became a crime-fighting ninja of Hell's Kitchen. You listen with heavy eyelids, genuinely interested in his life, but so tired that you can't help but allow your eyes to close every few moments. 

 

You wake up to the sound of your alarm blaring in your ear. You groan, rolling over and pressing the snooze button. The feeling of something wet and sticky against your skin makes your eyes fly open.  _Did I get my period last night?"_ you think, lifting up the covers and peering down at your shirt. Large blots of blood cover your shirt and pants and you nearly jump out of bed in panic before it all comes flooding back to you. Daredevil. Matthew. The sutures. It seemed like a big dream. 

Sliding out of bed you go into the living room where your first aid kit is still resting on the coffee table. Bloody towels are everywhere. Definitely not a dream. 

Did you fall asleep at some point? Did he  _carry you to bed?_ He definitely should not have been lifting things in his condition... Maybe you walked and don't remember it. Hopefully, that's the case. You pad back into your room and collapse onto your bed. You have half a mind to call in sick. What will you really retain anything with two hours of sleep? Probably not. 

Opening your phone to see if Jenny has an opinion you see you have a new text message.

_**From: Matthew- Be back in two weeks to get my stitches removed.** _

 

* * *

He could have just gone to her door. She's seen his face, she even knows who he is. 

**_Lawyer, huh?_ **

Her text a few days later made him smile. He wished it was coming from her mouth and not the automated voice of his phone. Matt has never  _had fun_ while getting first aid. He also hasn't been comfortable enough to reveal his identity so quickly before. 

Maybe it was her immediate willingness to help him. It's an instinct, he's noticed, with the medical professionals he comes across. They run towards the sight of red. It's a feeling he can relate to. Maybe if he weren't blind, Matt would have been a doctor or nurse too. 

Now he's sitting on the roof of her building in his usual suit wondering if he should go to her door or drop in via the window. The door would be the normal thing to do, but she will certainly make some comments if he goes in through the fire escape... 

Matt creeps down the fire escape and sits a few steps up to listen inside her apartment. 

It's quiet, but her heartbeat is steady. There's a fluttering of what seems to be a page-turning followed by a deep sigh. He slips forward and taps on the window.

Her heartbeat quickens, not in fear like when he first entered, but in excitement. He waits for her to open the window before slipping in. 

"I do have a door, you know." she chuckles. Matt smiles and walks past her, slipping off his coat and placing it on the table. He then begins to unbuckle his belt and his pants fall to the ground. She gasps quietly, her heart rate definitely quickening. Taking off the bandage, he sits on the chair ready for her to remove the stitches. 

"This is much more fun though."

 


End file.
